We gave our readers a one-word writing prompt: “indulgence.”
The Red Sea, the baptistery, and the birth canal
Cone was a profoundly biblical thinker. His Christology captured my imagination.
The tension was palpable. Then a white student stood up and said something I've never forgotten.
You cannot bear witness with a single word like genocide. Yet Night describes exactly what happened to me.
I was counting on her discretion.
Of all the things I could have gone donkey nuts over, it was "quiet time" that pushed me over the edge.
I am finally old enough to admit something: the mysteries of adulthood, those "mature themes" we try to hide from the young, are mostly stupid.
I listen to these songs with a longing for the unshakeable faith they express.
"Write down one thing you are thankful for," said my friend. "Just one."
I'm authorized to open seals, drive the chariot of fire, and pour out bowls of judgment. But wrestling someone?
Sometimes prayer takes us where we don't intend to go.
The perennial plant's tightly furled leaves emerge in March, pushing aside wintry desolation.
One day Bill didn't show up at the church, so we went to find him.
In a time of terror, the seminary needed the contraband words of Gustavo Gutiérrez.